


Leaving that last pan in the sink to let it "soak"

by m_jeevas



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Apartment Living, M/M, Other, Short Stories, more tags as this turns into more stuff, sidoh lives in an apartment with these two idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_jeevas/pseuds/m_jeevas
Summary: "Matt, I need you to look into my eyes and tell me you understand me.No. Shinigami. In. The. Apartment."A series of short stories where Matt takes Sidoh home to live in his and Mello's apartment.
Relationships: Matt | Mail Jeevas & Mello | Mihael Keehl, Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Leaving that last pan in the sink to let it "soak"

**Author's Note:**

> Sidoh and Matt being friends is something I think about a lot and this is just a place for me to dump these short stories into when they pop into my head. A reprieve from the normal, more serious stuff I write because I love my boys and I love Sidoh. Feel free to comment/say hi on my tumblr too: m-jeevas.tumblr.com : )

Mello’s eyes crack open, still heavy with sleep, to the sound of Matt’s laugh echoing through the apartment. He’s been unconscious for barely three hours, and his head pounds with the familiar ache of exhaustion. Matt laughs again, this time a little louder, and he can hear the clunk of his boots tapping against the floorboards.

At six thirty in the morning.

The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, but is starting lick glowing strands across the walls of is room, divided by the beat-up shades he’s pulled over the windows. To try and keep himself from waking up. Mello’s not one to go back to sleep once his eyes are open, and Matt doesn’t sound like he’s going to quiet himself down anytime soon.

This guy hasn’t made a single friend since he’s gotten to L.A. and that tells Mello, before he pulls on a pair of loose black sweatpants and a tank top, what he’s going to open the door to.

How many times did he have to fucking say it?

_He’s not coming home with us_.

_Don’t bring him to the apartment._

_Do not even_ think _about bringing him to the apartment._

_Do you understand me_?

_Matt, I need you to look into my eyes and tell me you understand me._

_No. Shinigami. In. The. Apartment._

Sure enough, what does he walk out of his room to see?

Matt’s playing Mario Kart on one of their extra televisions, trying to explain the point of the game to Sidoh, who’s floating a few feet from him with his eyes fixated on the pixelated characters. He’s got a controller in his hands, and Mello can see that even though he’s tapping away at it, the other end isn’t plugged into the console.

_This has to be a joke_.

“ _Hey_.”

He’s not sure who whips their head around faster.

In an instant, the game’s forgotten, and Matt’s starting to run his hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down like he always does when he’s caught doing something fucking _stupid_.

“Uh…Oh. Hey, morning, Mel. We were just—”

Mello’s hand is going up, stopping him in his tracks. He blinks once. Twice. Brings his hands up to his face to rub at the sides of his nose. “ _What_ did I tell you?”

A sheepish grin flicks over Matt’s face. “I, uh…don’t recall,” he lied.

And poor Sidoh is trapped in the middle of it, not sure what to do. “Good morning?” is all he offers, letting the controller fall with a plop onto the couch.

Mello scares the shit out of him.

“We were just uh, bored?” Matt offers. His roommate’s eyes narrow.

Okay, maybe not a strong start.

“We made pancakes!” Sidoh exclaims, absolutely elated, making a motion towards their too small kitchen. As if this is a retribution for the situation they’ve gotten themselves into.

Horrified, Mello turns to a mess of batter all over the counter tops, a burnt pan, and far more dishes than he could ever imagine someone needing to make a five-ingredient breakfast.

He inhales sharply, closes his eyes, and counts to three. That doesn’t do anything, so he counts to ten. And then thirty. When his eyes flutter open, they’re a calm that makes Matt more uncomfortable than his familiar outbursts.

_Uh oh._

“Can I see that?” Mello asks, extending a pointed finger to the pillow thrown carelessly onto the other side of the couch.

“What? Oh. Uh, yeah, sure,” Matt complies, throwing it over in a gentle underhand.

Mello presses his face into it and screams.


End file.
